Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps were right on top of Relam’s position. He leapt around the corner, striking with the carving knife, aiming to slash the assassin from shoulder to hip-
And nearly slew the serving girl in front of him.
Relam changed the angle of his blade just in time so it struck the stone wall of the corridor instead. The shock shook the knife from his grip and numbed his hand. Gasping, the prince shook his hand, trying to relieve the pain of the vibrations.
The serving girl shrieked and turned away, covering her eyes with both hands. Relam was in too much pain to pay her much heed at the moment though.
He heard a rush of footsteps, then his mother and Griff came hurrying around the corner. They balked at the sight of Relam and the serving girl, Relam clearly in pain, the serving girl terrified out of her wits. Then, as they realized what had happened, the pair relaxed. Griff went to calm the girl and the queen tended to her son, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” Relam muttered. His hand still tingled and shook. “Who knew a little knife like that could hurt so much if you hit a wall with it?”
“Well, you do now,” Griff observed, grinning in relief.
“Thank you,” Relam said icily. “But just now I’m wishing I didn’t know that.” He shook his hand one more time, then retrieved the carving knife and straightened, looking around.
“We should keep moving,” his mother said worriedly, glancing at Griff and the girl. “If the assassins are following, they will have heard that.”
“You’re right,” Griff agreed. “Relam, go to the kitchens at the end of the hall. Get the guards and send a couple of strong lads to help us with the king.”
“Good idea,” Relam grunted, looking around to get his bearings. He had gotten turned around during the attack and all the corridors looked the same.
“To your left,” Griff said helpfully, pointing.
“Thanks,” Relam muttered.
The prince shambled off towards the kitchens, the knife clutched awkwardly in his bandaged left hand now. His right was still partially numb. As he approached the kitchen entrance, he slowed even more, not wanting to have to save another servant from impalement on the little blade.
Finally, he turned into the kitchen and was nearly run over by a woman pushing a cart loaded with fresh bread.
“Your highness!” she cried, clutching at her heart in surprise and shock.
“Guards!” Relam shouted. “Here, quickly. And any among you who are strong.”
A trio of cook’s assistants, sturdy boys and young men between fifteen and twenty-five, immediately joined Relam by the entrance. They looked nervous and confused, but capable enough.
“The king and queen are with Griff down the hall,” Relam explained quickly. “I need you to go and help them to the kitchen. The king is unconscious.”
They nodded briefly then hurried out of the kitchen. As they departed, two palace guards came barreling through the kitchen, nearly trampling several of the kitchen staff. “Your highness!” the first said, surprised. “What’s going on? Did I hear something about the king?”
“First, I need one of your swords,” the prince grunted. The guards were each armed with heavy spears as their primary weapon. Their belts held short swords and long dirks for close quarters.
“Of course, my liege,” the second guard said, handing his over. “But if I may ask-”
“There has been an assassination attempt,” Relam explained. “The king and queen are on their way here. We used the servants’ corridors to get away. The palace must be locked down immediately, if it isn’t too late.”
“I’ll do it,” the first guard said, clapping a mailed fist to his chest in salute.
“Good. Put everyone you see on alert and turn out every warrior we have in the palace. Send four men here to join me in the kitchen.”
“To protect the king and queen?”
“No,” Relam replied grimly. “I’m going after those assassins myself.”
The first guard opened his mouth to respond but the young prince cut him off. “Get going,” he snapped. “That’s an order, soldier.”
The guard raced off, mail clanking loudly as he ran. The second guard frowned, concerned.
“Your highness, I beg you to reconsider going after the assassins yourself,” he said gently. “The guardsmen are trained for this sort of thing. We-”
“Are spread thin enough that you are likely to be outnumbered if the assassins continue to move in a concerted group,” Relam finished, twirling the borrowed sword experimentally. “Well balanced,” he observed to no one in particular.
“Yes, it is,” the guardsman agreed. He paused then added, a trifle shamefaced, “I had not considered that the guard was spread so thin.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s a big palace,” Relam replied, shrugging.
“ ’Scuse us, your highness,” a man gasped out from behind the prince.
Relam and the guard dodged to the side smartly and let the servants through. They were towing the king between them, panting under the burden. The king’s eyes were open, staring blearily at his surroundings, and his mouth sagged open. He appeared to still be mostly asleep.
“There’s no sign of pursuit,” Griff reported, following the queen in.
“Then maybe they are trying to make their escape even now,” Relam mused. “Griff, arm the kitchen staff. Knives, hearth pans, rolling pins, roasting spits, anything that will serve as a weapon. You are in command. I’m going after the assassins before they get away.”
“Alone?” Griff yelped fearfully.
“Not alone,” the guard countered, standing to attention.
“Just the two of you?”
The sound of many rapid footsteps reached Relam’s ears. He looked over his shoulder
